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agentinferno12 · 13 hours

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Midnight Talks ( It's my first fic )

⚠WARNINGS ⚠ :

Language ( haha ), kissing, intrusive thoughts, me being an a-hole and trying to make you guys cry, angst

Yeah, I don't know how Warnings really work.

Summary:

When Y/N's room is facing reconstruction ( or even destruction ), she bunks with her playmates, her old comrades, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. This night, she's plagued by cruel evocations which she swore she'd end somehow. Well, Good thing she's got friends with her. They're just friends, right?

WORD COUNT: 8666

Narrator's POV, Ig ( I don't how this shit works )

A cold wind whipped your face, blustering through the cracked glass window which seemed adamant in standing still and strong, though broken for as long as time could tell. The windowsill collected dust over the years it remained unopened, but today was a day which stood prominent and unwavering in its utter dismay. Reflex tears sprung from your eyes when the wind's attempt to dry them out was approaching success, but this simple excuse was not about to amount for what you had to face, and why you couldn't help the emotions. You'd promised yourself you'd stay strong, but maybe that was just another thing you'd be breaking today.

The waiting room, once so jovial and filled with the twittering memories of adoration, now exuded a dead silence which you couldn't bear witness to. All because of your arrival. If you happened to leave at this very moment, you'd leave the regret, the ache in your heart, the horror betrothed to an emptiness you'd find yourself trapped in, unable to break out with every futile attempt dying out like the voice in your head. You'd rid this room of all the gloominess you'd inflicted upon it, with no intention to. You stared at the closed door, the smooth oak begging to be touched. No matter what, you'd wait this one out. Patience had never been your long suit, but if you wished to be able to collect even a fragment of your heart which would ineluctably be shattered after a few moments, you'd have to prepare yourself, both physically and mentally. Shutting out your feelings was never a problem, and neither was moving on. But when the only thing from your past which brought you joy weasels its way into the future in which you reside, all your principles go to hell.

The clock ticked laboriously, alerting you that it had been over a quarter of an hour since you were unmoving on the steel bench. Your fingers went pale from the pressure you gripped the edge of your seat with. Blood dripped from your fingertips, rolling down to your palm, and you welcomed the pain, certain that this was a distraction which would occupy you for at least a short while.

A bundle of tissue rolls caught your eyes, and the first movement you made after quite a while of being stationary was grabbing them. Once white, now stained with blood, piling up at the bottom of an unfilled bin. You stared at your hands to examine the cuts, when they started shaking. You stuffed them in your pockets before the slightest tremor could set off a chain reaction of bombs erupting in you, and you'd lose control once again. You were to blame. You put them there.

Light spilled out as the creaking of a door issued into your surroundings, a pale blue hue calming your apprehension. You steeled yourself and used all your strength to push yourself up off the bench, and trudged forward, each step painfully slow. He'd probably hear everything, but to passerby's, you were as silent as his room was. His bed was large, enough to give him room to toss and turn in nights, as you knew he so often did when enslaved in a world constructed by his worst fears and preceding torment, each shackle growing in weight as his burdens threatened to break his back. His blanket lay forgotten on the exquisitely veined marble floor. The smell of fresh coffee lingered in the air, and sure enough, stationed on the polished bedside table was a pot of coffee with a steam coated inside the glass, and a simple book.

Your knees almost buckled when you looked into his eyes, the juxtaposition of the color against his pale skin making him look as merry as ever. He waited patiently as you gripped the armrest of the plush, velvet seat, and lowered yourself, every effort going into persisting in hiding your fragility. You were inches away from his bedside, and when his warm hand found yours, you took it without complaint.

"Hey, love." you whispered, forcing yourself to smile. He'd always loved how you'd been so cheerful the entire time you'd been with him. The entire time you'd been his. "It's been a while, huh?" He brought your intertwined fingers to his lips, and you let out a shaky breath.

"Good thing you came to see me." he said in his deep, husky voice. "Can't get out of here in this state, can I?" he gestured towards his limp frame, and absent-mindedly placed a hand on his abdomen. He was still strong, both mentally and physically. Something you aspired to be in this delicate moment. You didn't want to break down in this peace, so you bit your tongue and shook your head. He hadn't aged a day, looking as fresh as a dewdrop. You wanted to curse him for following you to what you hoped would be your doom.

You felt a stiff breeze, and you let out a shudder. You realised he would suffer the effects of the cold much worse than you would, and you swore silently when you saw tendrils of snow floating in through the room window, this time as clear as water. You picked up the thin blanket on the floor, and stood up to cover him as lovingly as you could manage, but he stopped you by gripping your hand. His strength was shocking, even after all these years. "Don't. If I can't feel your warmth, none of it matters anymore." he said softly, his voice carrying a steadiness which just left your body. You felt a single prick in your left eye, and a tear cascaded down your cheekbone, a singular drop enough to demolish the poorly-built wall of detachment you'd strived to confine yourself in, but his words had you wandering blindly towards what you hoped could alleviate your pain, even for a short while. "C'mere, doll." he whispered, his arms open and his eyes wary. You climbed into his bed, and he shifted over in one swift movement, making space for you that you knew you'd never be able to fill.

"I'm so sorry!" you sobbed into his soft cotton shirt, as he wrapped his arms around you tighter, warding off the demons that tore you apart, day by day, minute by minute, and you welcomed his warmth, soaking into you to the point that you had forgotten about the coldness you'd faced your entire life. You wished you could stay here forever. His heartbeat was slow, comforting as his soothing voice was, enveloping you in a chokehold of love you didn't have the might to escape. You struggled to breathe, wracked by sobs and claustrophobic from all the nights you spent curled up into a ball. You'd wished to escape yourself, but you held on, because forgetting your past meant forgetting him. You were a monster. Yet here he was, forgiving you for all his life gone down the drain and into a free-flowing river in which he drowned the echoes in his mind. He'd do anything for her. No matter the cost.

And what did he think about all this?

That he spent his entire life in jeopardy for her to live in serenity, only to see her unable to stay strong for a few goddamn minutes?

Did he think she was so unable to contain her selfish emotions that she was only here to make him regret everything he'd done, just for her?

As he brought his lips to leave a soft kiss to your forehead, your inhibitions faded away into nothingness, the void of his room a haven for forgiveness, one of love prevailing over your rash mistakes. He'd fought for peace, you fought for mercy. And right now, he was fighting for his love. "Please..." you trailed off as another wave of despair broke you, drowning out the words you wished to say to him. You wanted to talk to him before you could lose him. You didn't want to lose him. Not again. He himself felt that your desperation was spilling into him, and he ran a thumb over your lips, cherishing the softness, before he leaned in, making your heart stop. He slowly slid his hand into your hair, pulling you in. You deepened the kiss, moving forward until there was no space left between you, and held his back. When a drop of water fell onto your cheek, you opened your eyes to find tears running down his face, and you pulled apart to press your forehead to his, and whisper, "Please don't leave me.".

He kissed you again, more passionately, and held your face in his hand, not letting go, or so you thought. He was the one who pulled apart this time, and he gazed into your eyes with longing. "Never.".

You buried your face in his neck, caressing his skin with your lips. He rubbed your back gently, and whispered in your ear, "Will you miss me?" You nodded, gripping his arm with such intensity that he let out a sharp exhale. If this was any sign that he knew his life was withering, then she wasn't about to let go of him anytime soon. "I don't want you to miss me. The only thing left here that I love is you, and I don't want to ruin your life like this. Please forgive me. And-" you broke him off with another intriguing kiss, aware of the sensation of his lips growing colder and colder. No surprises there. His time was fading away as yours was growing. "Please, forget about me."

"I can't." you choked out. "I just can't."

"Sure you can. You're stronger than anyone I've known. You'll just have to be strong enough this time."

He wrapped an arm around your waist, and you stared once again into those magnificent eyes, your reflection swimming in the pool of color. These eyes were burned into your memory, clear as glass, and you braved a look. Your fingers curled up into a fist, searching desperately for some stability. You couldn't fall this time; he wouldn't be here to catch you. Blood trickled out of your palm, and it stained his plain clothes. He gingerly opened up your fist and placed it on his heart. He was imploring you to do the unimaginable. He was imploring you to let him go. He opened his mouth to declare the words that would bring you ruins, "Let me go."

How many times would you have to face this?

In a world without him, life was futile. Meaningless. Hell. But what was the point of his anguish if you couldn't share it? You were ready. After a few minutes of silence, listening to his slow breaths, it dawned onto you that if you didn't accept separation right now, you'd never get to accept your fate. Eventually, he'd leave, and you didn't want to remembered as the one who was forced into isolation. You wanted to be remembered as his past lover. Nothing more. Not the weeping, woeful woman who couldn't deal with death. You didn't want him to suffer in silence, watching you come apart at the seams, when he was the one who had to shoulder his own demise. You wanted to be hold yourself together, to be tied together with a smile, just for him.

You tangled your hands in his hair, pressed your lips one last time to his forehead, and uttered under your breath, "Goodbye."

When you closed your eyes and opened them again, he was gone.

You woke up with a jerk, only to be hit the blinding darkness, suffocated in your blanket. You scrambled out of bed, trying to search for him, the one who plagued your dreams so often. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, and were clouded again with tears when you realised he was gone. Forever. You'd said goodbye to him, and he wasn't coming back ever. You curled up into a ball on the floor and buried your face in your knees, trying to come to your senses. You were the one who said 'goodbye' to him. You'd accepted it. Move on. Your brain was urging you to forget, but your heart was willing you to remember. All this time in the future rendered you unable to overcome the past.

A lamp turned on from the left corner of the room, and a silhouette draped in a blanket stood up, directing the spotlight onto you. You hurriedly wiped your face, and plastered on a fake smile. "Hey." you mumbled, your voice cracking. You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, wanting to say something else, but you were choking back tears. Bucky's worried face was eerily soft in the golden light, and he opened his mouth to ask you what was wrong, but shook it off and crossed the room with a few short strides. He picked you, placing an arm on your back and the other under your legs, and carried you over to his bed, where he sat you down as carefully as he could manage. He wasn't about to break you anytime soon. Cherishing the silence was a part of his job. But this time, the soundlessness was enough to drive him mad. His friend was fighting demons in her sleep all by herself. He wanted a part in demolishing them. He offered you his hand, and you took it frantically.

[TIME SKIP - Brought to you by Bucky trying to marry his plums]

Bucky's POV

She was breaking down right in front of me, and I couldn't even do anything about it. Goddamn it. I can't - Well, whatever it is that I can do, I can't. Emotional outbursts were supposed to be my specialty. Not that I'm taking pride in being one dramatic son of a bitch, but... If I can't help her, who the hell can?

She's always been emotional in her own ways. Never found a good fucking way to show it, always finding a way to dump it down the drain and hoping - no, praying - to God that it would wash away with her dreams. She says, and it's a real strange thing to say, but she says anyway, "I'm not at liberty to able to feel so strongly. It's a bit hard to deal with normal stuff for me." Maybe it's a good thing I can empathise with her; where we came from, both of us, you weren't allowed to feel human. And that sure is a problem and a half. You become so inhumane that things as fucking futile as feelings turn out to be unbearable. Maybe... maybe she's always been like this. If she thinks she doesn't deserve to be human, then I'll be a bitch. She's got no right to be so hard on herself. She's been nothing but kind to me; kind to every single person in this tower. When Tony blew up our rooms, she didn't have any issue with it. She's hell-bent on breaking herself, but this time, I'm with her. I'm not gonna let her.

The light was shining right into my face, and I was holding back for God himself to not break the darn thing. There she was, shaking and shivering and - Jesus, those tears weren't gonna stop, were they?

The only thing that felt normal right now was bringing her to me. I can't really, well, make her feel better. I've never been good at dealing with emotions. Just - just identifying them. Just figuring out how this is bad or this is good. Stevie's the one who can make you feel all warm and comfortable. Son of a bitch's probably the only one holding everyone up in the tower as well. He still says he'd die for everyone in this tower if it fucking came to that. How the fuck am I supposed to argue against that? When the goddamn shithead has his mind set, all you can do is stand off to one side and let the shit play out. Speaking of shit playing out, I couldn't just leave her there. Not like that.

I walked over to where she sitting on the floor, and it take all my strength just to do that. Emotional crisis right here, people. Sometimes I end up being thankful for all the shit HYDRA made me do. How the hell would I have learnt to walk so silently? Not a lot of positivity when the majority of your life ends up in bloodshed. But if Natasha can do it, so can I. Natasha would be so much helpful right now; they taught her all the psychological effects of manipulating the subject into tranquility in her time in the Red Room. I should know; I taught her there. Espionage was never my style. I was a sniper, but that's about as "spy" as I got, back in the war. All the shit HYDRA taught me to do was kill. Kill. Kill.

She said, "Hey," in a voice that sounded like chainsaws. When was the last time she drank water? For all I know, she's probably living on vodka. She cleared her throat to say something, and gave up on it, holding on to her sanity for fuck's sake. Poor girl.

I scooped her up into my arms, and she didn't resist at all. Jesus Fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with her? I helped her onto my bed, and she just sat there, not a single word coming out of her mouth. She's always been so talkative, she's always got something to say ; Hell, it can be annoying sometimes, but that's what I like about her - She's never afraid to tell you what you want. I had a few... lady friends back in the war, and they were just like her and nothing like her at the same time. It's funny; you run away from your past so much only to see it playing out in the present.

I gave her my hand to hold, because that's what my Ma taught me: if a lady's falling apart, you offer her your hand. Her hair was falling onto her face and it was pissing me off, so I brushed it off. Her face was warm; at least she stopped crying. She started staring at my arm - not the human one - and I was growing self-conscious to an increasing extent, so I cupped her chin and brought her face up so I could look into her eyes. Jesus, she's beautiful. But she could never be mine.

The curtains blew apart and the wind was unforgiving. I don't know what I did to make it so angry. Should've closed my window, I s'pose. But a streak of moonlight hit her face, and she looked just like a dream. The prettiest girl I've ever seen. It was like that color she always described the sky as; blue, wasting, hurt. It was haunting, honestly. Years now and it still looked like that starry night in Vietnam. It was a quiet hell there. I could never see her suffer like that again. HYDRA broke her so much that she was still picking up the pieces.

"What's wrong?" I asked, keeping my voice low as to not wake Steve up, because this was the first night in 5 days straight that he finally got some sleep.

She gulped, and took a deep breath. "I-" she broke off and shook her head. "I don't know." She let go of my hand, and I took that as a sign she was getting better.

I laughed at that. She says that a lot to avoid discretion, to take a chance on letting herself go. She looked at me with a funny look on her face. "I doubt that you don't."

Avoiding my gaze, she looked back out the window. A few moments, where I just sat and watched her. Guess I seemed to notice everything she did these days. How she scrunched up her nose when she laughed. How she always tucked in every corner of her bedsheet at night. How every word she wrote down had a double meaning, like she'd thought it out since the beginning of time. How she fought tears herself when someone else felt like they were about to cry. She wasn't different, but she was special. She had a lot of things to say, but never at the expense of anyone else. You don't find rarities like her in this place. Other than Steve. He's too fucking kind for his own good. But you look at anyone else, and all you see is the threat looming over your heard and growing every step they take. Sometimes I still get scared that they're here to punish me for my insolence, and - Christ, I'm doing it again. Tony said I'm not allowed to be, in his exact words, "A self-deprecating basket-case". Real nice.

She looked back at me and was surprised that I was watching her for some reason. She lowered her gaze. AGAIN. God, was I that hideous to look at?

"I just had a dream." she mumbled, twiddling her thumbs. "Not a good one, really."

I smiled at that. "You wanna tell me about it? I swear I won't judge. Even if you're scared of spiders." Her chuckle was raspy, dry, almost painful to listen to. But it made me feel all giddy. I made her laugh. How long has it been since I did that? Make a beautiful lady laugh?

"Promise me you - uhhh... promise me you won't, you know, get mad at me." she pleaded, back inside her walls of remoteness. When she saw my expression, which I was sure as hell would be confused as fuck, she decided to go on. "You - you remember him from the POW camp?"

My brows furrowed in perplexity, because I sure don't remember everyone from Azzano. There were hundreds of soldiers marching onwards to Jersey, which I remember saying I wouldn't be caught dead in, but was forced to go to anyway. I wasn't even aware she knew a guy from the 107th.

"What do you-" I started to ask, but my eyes widened in realization as his face crossed my mind. "You didn't - Well, I - You didn't, did you?" My words were tumbling out of my mouth, but to her, it made perfect sense. "Oh, Jesus, I - I'm sorry, doll."

I opened my arms and she fell right into them. Her grip tightened and I felt the collar of my shirt getting soaked with her tears. I kissed her forehead, and her muffled voice was growing quieter and quieter each second. "I had to say goodbye."

A part of me wanted to start crying with her, and it's a good thing I never listen to that part. Another part of me wanted to hear every single thing about her dream, and it was that part that I despised the most. I've got a lot of parts. I'm like a machine. I rubbed her back consolingly and she didn't fight my touch. I thought of adding in my own opinion to the mix, either praising her for moving on, empathizing with her on the hardships she would have had to face, or even telling her what she did wasn't necessary. There was a selfish part in me that wanted to keep her all to myself, and that's fucking stupid. She wasn't mine to lose.

Her breathing slowed down, and she brought her head up just a fraction, to say, "Did you ever have to say goodbye to someone?"

I smiled, but there was nothing real about it, not really. "A million little times. And there's still people left in the line."

She looked up at me, and her eyes were filled with curiosity. At least, that's what I think it was. It could also just be confusion. Hell, I'm not good at reading people at all. I can read Steve just fine, but that's because he's an open book - am I an open book too? "Is there anyone I know of that you said goodbye to?" she enquired.

"My family."

She sighed, half in realization, half in despair. "I miss them too. They were so kind to me. They were like my own family."

"Fun times, huh?" I shook my head and looked down at my hands. "You ever wonder what life would be like if we were still in the good old days?"

Her eyes shot up to mine, and she said solemnly, "All the damn time."

I cracked a smile at that. "Let's say we were in the 40's again. You, me and Sleeping Beauty over there." I pointed to Steve. "What's the first thing you would do?"

She looked up in thought, and breathed out. "Maybe... Oh, I got it. I'd go and eat a hot-dog. The ones in Coney Island."

A chuckle escaped my mouth. "The first thing you would do is eat a hot-dog?"

She looked offended at that, and her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "Well, I'd be hungry, won't I? And you know that vendor is my friend. He wouldn't be dead for quite a long time."

"Okay, geez, no need to get angry, Y/N. I totally understand you and your insane sentiments for food." I picked my nails in order to look nonchalant, but I was cracking up inside.

She punched my shoulder lightly. "You're the one who eats like a fucking pig."

"Hey, blame Ham Bone over there, not me. He's the one who showed me that goddamn Taco Ring thing!"

She burst into laughter, her voice like a peal of bells. Damn. I should stop reading poetry. "Don't you mean Taco Bell, Bucky?" she face-palmed. I feel stupid.

"Whatever the fuck it is, it tastes good. Beyond the veil in the wartime, y'know?"

"You're a disaster, Barnes. A real big one."

"You're the one who can fix anything, so why don't you fix me up, Miss Perfect?"

She sniggered with amusement, and managed to get, "Definitely a disaster," out somehow while still sounding like she didn't really mean it.

A voice piped up in the background. Well, more like right next to us. "Who's a disaster?"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Y/N shrieked. Guess she's not used to Stevie materializing out of thin air. Actually, neither am I, but I like pretending that I'm used to peculiarity like this. Probably because I am.

"Language, Y/N." Steve yawned. "Mind telling me whatever the hell - "

"Language!" I imitated him, just for the sake of it. It's really fun pissing Steve off. It's sad that he doesn't cry like Clint does, though. But I guess shooting the vents was taking it a bit too far.

"You're a jerk." he rolled his eyes, rubbing a hand along his jawline.

"Punk."

Steve's POV

I buried my face in my plush pillow when light streamed in from the open window. Wait, open window? Who the fuck left the window open? It's... yeah, it's gotta be Bucky. Who else is scared of the dark in here? Not Y/N, that's for sure. Come to think of it, I doubt Y/N's scared of anything. She's the bravest woman I've ever met.

I lifted myself up precariously, getting ready to cross the room and shut the damn window, but was struck by a wave of fatigue. A soft groan slipped out of my mouth, and I muffled my face with something soft. Hopefully, it's the pillow. I was about to drift off again, but stifled sobs broke my rocky terrain of sleep. Another night where I lose it, huh?

But a few seconds in, and I realized that it could only be one person; Bucky sure didn't sound like a girl when he cried. Panic coursed through me as it dawned on to me that this was probably the only time in my life she'd ever cried. Well, in front of me. But if she hadn't cried after all this time...

Wow, she'd need some serious therapy. Not that Tony believes in therapy. He's the one who avoids everything, all at once, but he's so productive. He can do it with a broken heart. I admire his yield, how he can turn every splattered canvas into a masterpiece. I turned around as slowly as I possibly could, which was wasn't that hard seeing I was sinking into the marshmallow I was sleeping on. I'd rather spend a treacherous night on rocks. Don't know how these guys do it.

I rotated my head to the left to rest my head on the side, so I could watch Bucky's window. There was something about how the light blue curtains fluttered in a floating motion that paralyzed me in awe of the sight. It was like Y/N's hair, tousled in the wind, her laugh like a string of silk flowing away, and away, and away.

Heat was creeping up to face as I remembered how yesterday she stood in the garden, sunlight streaming down and filling with her eyes with mirth. Her face was ethereal, it was sparkling. She's so beautiful in every way. If only I could show it to her.

And the way she writes, the way she speaks, the way she smiles...

Fuck. I'm in love.

And on that crisp note, a fresh wave of crying ensured its place into my mind and surroundings. It was like something was strangling me; I couldn't even get up to help her. Jesus, I wish Bucky was there helping her. One night without a gallery of torment was a blessing, and she didn't seem to able to catch a break.

A hoarse voice called out about a dozen feet on my right. "Hey." she said. No one was in the compound the entire day, except her. She said she'd fallen asleep in the afternoon, but I really doubt she was favored with any lingering fantasies. Her screams are always so heart-wrenching; a part of me was almost relieved I wasn't there to her in pain. It was a deep, dark part in me, the part which was so in love that it lost love for everything else, lost love for life itself. So I locked it down. And truth be told, I know for a fact that negative influences have done this to me. I may not be perfect, but I know that I could never enjoy seeing pain, especially not her's.

The sound of swishing fabric registered in my mind, and a soft grunt followed; he must have picked her up. A few light footsteps and a faint plunk! on the bed just confirmed my theory. Bucky always thought of himself as a wretch, a monster, a loose cannon, shattering everything in his way. He thinks that his Midas Touch doesn't people to gold, it turns people to wrecks. But I see so much more, even though he's not ready to tell me himself. I see a man who'll throw away his whole life just to make you crack a smile. I see a man who shoves down his bad dreams just to helps you face reality. I see a man who picks you up when he's falling apart. All these years I've tried to make him feel safe, and it turns out he's the one who's been trying to protect me. Very rarely - just once in a blue moon - I find it hard to watch him fight his dragons without a sword. He hasn't changed, but he's still a new man. I always notice tendrils of his soul fight its way back to normalcy, and I try my best to best to pull him back into what he really was; a good man.

He's my best friend. No,MORE.

He's my brother.

And her?

The one who makes my heart beat faster than the wind's quickening pace? The girl who only sees beauty in crushed dreams? The angel who bathes you in her ubiquitous love?

She was crying in a darkened room, and my stupid fucking body refused to respond to the urge of going towards her. All I wanted to was comfort her. Christ.

She's taken it upon herself to fucking carry the world's weight on her shoulders. I get that she's strong - Well, strong is an understatement. She's got the brains and brawn many would envy to have. The modified serum really did bring her life to justice. For about a year or so. After that, it all went downhill.

We're just pawns in life's ruthless game, huh?

But it's not healthy. Seeing Bruce bottle it all up, and turn into an 8 foot-tall green freak of nature is not the best experience. I know what suppression can really do to you. No offense to Bruce. He's an awesome guy. I love playing golf with him.

Jesus, am I going off track?

My ma always says that my focus is like a dandelion. "Single puff and it's gone, sunny. Stay with me, will you?"

I can't exaggerate on how well she knew me. Which is a good thing. She wasn't just my parent, she was my life-line. I never knew my father, but she made up for it plenty. There are times where I despise my upbringing, but not because of her. It's how that bastard thought it was a good-as-hell job beating up my mother. Like I said, not a fan of pain.

Maybe I'm just being dramatic.

It happened to so many poor women back then. Even Y/N had a tough time, but she was someone who knew her way around people. Not that she's the manipulative type, not at all. But she can sweet-talk a man into anything. She's got the type of steel composure that puts skyscrapers to shame.

It's a whirlwind of agony seeing her break down. And I was ready to break every single goddamn bone in my body if I couldn't get up right now. Hate to say it, but there were things even the serum couldn't fight. Fucking idiot. I was hoping to avoid the daily hallucinations from sleep deprivation today, but I saw the curtains turning into Y/N's face and shut my eyes.

A few seconds and I was out cold. Ha. That's funny. Out cold. Just like the ice.

Seconds turned into minutes, and I heard someone rambling a fucking moron, and there we were again, in a puddle of exhaustion. Fuck my life.

I was about to go back into the begged and borrowed wisps of slumber I was trying my fucking best to swathe, but Buck's panicked voice made sure to fight my human instincts and turn me into an agitated mess. "Oh, Jesus, I - I'm sorry, doll."

Sorry?

Sorry for what?

Was it her fault that she was crying? No, that's nuts. He'd never make her cry. Then what was it?

The few seconds of deafening silence made me want to scream. Once again, her weeping was muffled and faint, controlled to her best extent. I know a real traumatic breakdown when I see one, or in this case, hear one.

If it weren't for my enhanced hearing, I wouldn't have heard her say, "I had to say goodbye."

Then everything came together like a puzzle. It was him. The one she loved. Who else dwelled liked an unwanted guest in the corner of her mind?

I know her inside out, every curl of her lip, every squint of her eyes, every crinkle in her smile, her clasp of her hand. So of course she's still hung up on the man she said was gone forever. I wonder if all of it's my fault. If I hadn't gone in the ice, if I hadn't crashed the plane, would she have refused to beceme a cryo-genic experiment?

Could she have lived her life happily instead of being timeless?

Should she have forgotten me, should she have lived her life with her love?

All the questions swirled around in my head, grasping for answers that slipped away as a hint of jealousy graced this moment. Maybe if I tried harder, I could've been hers. I didn't wanna lose her, hope it never ends. I've been trying to tell her for years that I... never mind. I was too late. She's never gonna love me now.

Who could?

But I wasn't giving up on keeping my friend. If love was a long shot, then I'd keep the innocence in between us. It was the least I owed her. She was my best friend. If she sacrificed her happiness, traded her eternal, burning glory just to be stuck in a chamber of ice for 70 years, then I'd provide the warmth she desperately needed. What are friends for?

Speaking of friends, I knew Bucky would be handling the situation like a champ. He always had a way with women, and he made sure to show it off. He's one cocky son-of-a-bitch, but he's the best one there is. At this moment, I bet he'd been thinking that he wasn't really someone who could deal with something like this, but he'd be doing much better than anyone would've bargained for. And when her breathing slowed down, a sense of poise lingering in the thick air, I knew he'd done something right. Buck was turning into himself again.

She sniffed, and in a weak voice, croaked out, "Did you ever have to say goodbye to someone?"

Ah. That's not good. That must've touched a live wire. There were so many people he lost, just because I couldn't catch his damn body when he cascaded off the train. It's all my fault. But he still says that he's over it. What kind of friend am I?

That's why it shocked me when he said in a steady voice, "A million little times. And there's still people left in the line."

Is he really, well, has he really moved on already? He's walking onwards on unpaved land. It's not easy to come back to what you know you gotta feel one day, but you can't. I'm still tracing the evidence of some catastrophic grounds he found solace in, but nothing makes sense.

I wanted to see his face, see his genuineness, see the lies that clung on to him like paper-weights. I clenched my jaw as I pushed all my weight off the bed, managing to land soundlessly on my feet. The adrenaline kept me going on. I held my breath as I tiptoed forward - not the weird way in 'Tom & Jerry' - keeping distance between my bed and their angular silhouettes.

They started talking about their first actions if granted a way back in the 40's, back in the good old days, and their conversation was hushed, a few chuckles here and there. It was hard to listen to when all these thoughts were racing through my mind. Until Y/N laughed out loud. "Don't you mean Taco Bell, Bucky?" she slapped her forehead. He must've said something really stupid. I don't blame him.

"Whatever the fuck it is, it tastes good. Beyond the veil in the wartime, y'know?" He carried on a pretense of indifference, but his voice was deep with amusement. He loved food more than anyone in this compound. Silly guy.

"You're a disaster, Barnes. A real big one." He sure is.

"You're the one who can fix anything, so why don't you fix me up, Miss Perfect?" he retorted, snarky as ever. He could give Tony a run for his money.

It was increasingly awkward watching these two from the shadows, and I felt like I was going to fall on the spot, so I stepped forward, trying to consume a spot on the enormous bed.

She started laughing, and it was the funniest thing ever. She sounded like she meant to offend him, but I think we all know that's not humanly possible. "Definitely a disaster."

I never liked the quiet before, and before I could stop myself, I foolishly said, "What's a disaster?". I bit the inside of my cheek as I realized what a stupid thing it was to do.

Y/N let out a yelp as she got startled. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

Huh. Didn't know she had it in her. "Language, Y/N." A yawn slipped out of my mouth, and I was too lazy to conceal it. I still had no clue what the heck was going on. How did heart-stopping waves of heart turn into midnight talks? "Mind telling me whatever the hell-"

"Language!" Bucky put on a terrible, overly-emphasized New York accent on that one, futile word, just to make me slam my skull into a wall. He's awesome.

"You're a jerk." I retorted, and ran a hand along the intricate sleep lines on my jaw. Gotta stop sleeping on my stomach, I guess.

"Punk." he laughed, low and soothing.

Y/N's POV (like, actual POV)

My mind was a haze of nocturnal immobility, curled up into ball of nothingness as I watched these two angels converse in front of me. So casual, so ordinary, as if nothing in life had affected them at all. The midnight moon's gentle caress painted them in a light more beautiful that I could ever imagine. Ringlets of desire started growing in my mind, but it wasn't blown by a wind of amorousness, but simply by my unwavering resolve to showing them how much I cared for them.

With not a single trace of affectionate deprivation.

I love them both, truly. Each one holds a tailor-made place in my heart, and with my leaving behind the only obstacle in pursuing a new life, I was left with stone-carved path with jagged edges. One wrong step and I bleed into oblivion.

Words carried with sighs and laughter and heavy burdens just slip into the night air, whisking me into a paradise of sublimation.

I never wanted to be a vicarious puppeteer who tangles people in strings and makes them dance to my own tune; I just want to belong. To be loved.

My words may not be plentiful, but it's the meanings that matter, not the declarations.

Sometimes thoughts bane your fingers so much that every movement brings on a torrent of hesitancy, of vacuity, and some truths must never be told. Some truths can't be handled. That is why a keep my explanations to a bare minimum. Why should I bedevil anyone who only chooses to see good?

Steve's opinions on 80's music brought me back. He wasn't exactly vox populi.

"It's just survivor bias, Buck. I mean-" he let out an exasperated scoff, "All the bad songs are buried under a deep, deep hole of regret and, right now, you're thrown into the main stream. Just tons of synth and limitless cocaine."

"Tony'd quite philanthropically murder me for agreeing with you, but hate the sin, love the sinner, isn't it?" Bucky added thoughtfully, scratching his nest-of-a-hair.

"See, you've got the gist of it all. If only we could tell Tony to stop blasting Van Halen at 3 in the morning somehow without him painting your arm key lime green."

"Don't remind me of that, Stevie." Bucky audibly shuddered, a shaky breath let out from the grimace his mouth donned. "Took a week to get Banner to fix it up for me. I was wandering around like Captain Ahab." He was lost in thought again. "How did Tony even fucking manage that? It's fucking Vibranium, for crying out loud."

"Hey, he's the genius here, not me."

I cleared my threat, and they both trained their wary eyes on me. "Are you done spewing controversies, boys, or do you want me to hold your hand for it?"

A look of extreme stupefaction was etched on Bucky's tired face. "Why would you hold my hand, you eavesdropping chucklehead?"

Steve punched Bucky's shoulder so hard that he had to slap his metal arm on his face to stifle the groan, and I, of course, burst into laughter. I wasn't personally offended by the insult; it was my fault for not minding my own business, but I suppose he was a bit, just a tiny bit, crude.

Steve muttered, "Insensitive moron." and smiled at me like nothing had happened, while Bucky glowered at him in increasingly-threatening proximity.

"Personally, I just find it hilarious that Bucky hasn't managed to adapt to the lingo of this decade." I explained, brushing off the insinuation that I affronted.Steve furrowed his eyebrows in thought, and I had to admit, it looked adorable. "Well, even I had trouble in learning about all these new slangs and memes and a thousand different ways to greet someone. I don't blame him, people can be confusing sometimes." His insight was empathetic, and surprisingly considerate.

"Stevie, he can speak 18 languages. Forgetting a few old words here and there isn't a hard nut to crack. Especially not for the great American swindler."

Bucky cleared his throat dramatically and mumbled, sarcasm thick in his voice, "So nice when everybody talks about you like you're not even there. You guys are great." and he lowered himself into his pit of hatred once again.

Steve smiled at me for much longer than I would deem conventional, and I was getting lost in the moment, until he looked away and stared at the ceiling, the ghost of joy printed upon his face. I felt my cheeks growing hot, and bit my lip.

"So..." Steve trailed off.

"So." I echoed.

"Wanna get some ice-cream, Y/L/N?"

I nodded my head vigorously. "What kind of question is that?" Seriously, what kind of question is that?

"A simple one, doll." He shrugged, unruffled, unlike his hair. "Got any flavors you want?"

I answered immediately. "Oh God, not vanilla. Anything but vanilla. I hate it more than life itself."

Bucky snapped out of his murderous daze to shoot me a look of hurt, and contempt. "What's wrong with vanilla, Y/N?"

I rolled my eyes at his stupidity. I'd explained to him so many times I lost count. "I'm so sick of going to every stall and tasting a pale, white, nondescript marshmallow-flavoured obsolescence. It's EVERYWHERE. The world's obsession with vanilla makes me want to cry."

"Go ahead and do it then."

Steve, always the mediator, induced peace and resolved the non-existent conflict brewing just around the corner. "Let's all just shut up. Ice cream tomorrow."

I groaned out loud, unfair of this injustice. It's not my fault Bucky was so unremarkable and run-of-the-mill. "But Steve, I-"

"Will go to sleep. Right, Y/N?"

I narrowed my eyes in annoyance at him, but his stern look made my anger disappear. "Fine." I muttered. "You make me want to punch a horse."His stoic face was riddled with amusement, and his titters did not unnoticed. "See, warrior girl, that's not the type of thing your modified serum will help you with in battle."

Hey, some people want to eat a horse, I want to punch one. What's the overall difference, really?

I scoffed. "I think what you really mean is that I have an advantage over the two of you."

Bucky piped up out of the blue. "Which is, angel-face?"

I ignored the snide comments and odd nicknames. "While you two are built like FedEx trucks, I can pass off as a plain, willowy lady who's not an imminent source of peril. Just normal."

A snort came from Bucky's side. "Normal's an understatement. You already look like a heart-breaker, why not just become a model and call it a day?" Then, he slapped his hand over his mouth and rose so briskly I was sure he'd see the room spinning. "I'm going to go kill myself now, you two have a good night. " A few short strides, and he reached the end of the room, fumbled with the door knob, slammed the door shut, and left only two in the room.

Steve and I sat in silence for quite a while, trying to seep in what the fuck just happened, too in shock to register any growing states of concern, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd been in remoteness with him. It felt... good. He turned around and caught me watching him, and I looked away, embarrassed. In my peripheral vision, he simply grinned like a cheshire cat.

"Go to sleep, doll." he ordered, without a hint of aggression.

I sighed and got to my feet, trudging the dozen feet to the lonely depths of my temporary bed. Seclusion was never a hobby of mine. That's why I started in surprise when a pair of strong arms grabbed my waist and pulled me in for a kiss on my temple. I turned around to face the man out of time, his astonishingly blue eyes a pool of compassion, like a canvas of the eternal, laughing sky, a pocket of freedom, alluring that I find myself wanting to fly, to be free. I cup his face in my hands, cherishing our secret moments. I planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Took you long enough, Captain."

"Maybe if you'd hopped on to that plane with me, we'd end up here a lot sooner with each other."

I laughed and stared at the outside window. A chill ran through me. "You make it sound like it's a good thing."

"It all depends on the perspective." He stated wisely.

In a trice, I was perforated with surmounting guilt. Thoughts of Bucky were in a fast-flowing river in my mind. What would he think of all this? I was only thinking about myself, how I wanted an end to austere sobriety, and didn't think that my feelings towards Steve could end up affecting him badly. He was his best friend.

"Y/N?" Steve questioned, scanning my guise. "What's wrong?"

I shook my head, unable to form words when I felt the world slipping me. Just a little while where I thought I could grasp something light, and burdens end up crushing me through the ground.

"It's fine. Y/N, listen to me it's fine. I know you love him." The last addition made my heart crumble. I did love him. But he wasn't the only one that stole my adoration.

"I love you too." I was desperately trying to siphon off my love into him, to prove that he wasn't something discardable to me. He was my mural, my sky. I couldn't just let him go. Not now, I couldn't.

A ghost of a smile flickered on his face. "I know. But I'm not that important."

Rage spread inside of me like a wildfire. Not important? He was more than important, he was EVERYTHING. The man who waged wars with evil to see good blossom in others. "Steve, I-"

"Need to calm down. There's no way in hell I'm letting you break yourself up just for the sake of choosing. Who cares, honestly, about who you end up with? I know I sure don't. I can wait for a lifetime just to make you happy. And I know Buck will too. All we want is you to live life in peace."

"What if I can't have peace without the two of you?" The still silence that followed was one that only came when people truly understood each other. He threaded our fingers together and trained his eyes on that. "The tomb won't close, Steve."

Tears pricked your eyes once again, but you fought them back. "Why are you stepping down?"

"I want to see you rise up."

He placed one more kiss on your forehead and said, softly, "Get some sleep."

You didn't want to talk about this, but you didn't want to forget it, either. Your convictions were laced with despair, floating high to its zenith. You took a concerningly long time to return to your cocoon of anguish, hoping you'd be smothered by the time you woke up. Glancing past your shoulder, a sleeping silhouette graced the walls.

You took a deep breath, and slipped into the covers like a thief. You hoped for some way to unravel this entangled mess, and caught yourself smiling. Some things were only manageable in the morning. In daylight.

#marvel #2015 #steverogers #avengers #buckybarnes #wintersoldier #stevexbuckyxreader #mebeingmad #notreallysmut #lotofangst

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